Whispers of the Forgotten Gods
by Desvendapur
Summary: A young marine; she owes her life to a sergeant she has never truly known. After fours years without seeing him she finds herself in battle at his side for the first time. With the Earth's fate in the balance she will have to give it her all...for him


**Note: **I hate the continuity that Bungie created with this series via _Halo 2-3_ and all novels after _First Contact_. This is how I personally envisioned the franchise so do not panic when there are lapses in official continuity. After all, this is FAN fiction.

This story is dedicated to all the background video game characters out there.

**Prologue **

**Of Burnt Ice and Frozen Souls **

Few people would associate fire with the cold. That is except for those kinds of fire you might associate with warming your toes during cold winter days. What you might not think of is the fact that fire is the most lethal weapon in the cold.

Scorched earth policy had been a term used frequently throughout human history. A tactic that had was nearly as old as human society it is a barbaric maneuver often used to deny enemy soldiers supplies at the cost of losing a commander's own resources.

*** * * Merriam-Webster 1937 definition for scorched-earth * * ***

**1:**_**relating to or being a military policy involving deliberate and usually widespread destruction of property and resources (as housing and factories) so that an invading enemy cannot use them**_**  
****2:**_**directed toward victory or supremacy at all costs; ruthless**_

Humans still debate whether it is the proper manner to conduct war. If used defensively it can give decisive victory, but leaves the victorious army with unusable land. Same for the offensive faction; scorched earth will leave the land unusable, so the choice it to conquer the land or destroy the enemy. Regardless, the maneuver has been the deciding factor for centuries in many campaigns.

*** * * A CLASSIC EXAMPLE * * ***

Napoleon Bonaparte was one of the greatest military minds in human history, but his grand army would be decimated by this simple tactic when used by the Russians. Russia knew that they couldn't beat Napoleon so they denied Napoleon everything in order to deny his conquest. They burnt everything. Farms, villages, towns, even their capital of Moscow. This costly tactic left Napoleon without supplies. His army would soon be left to the Russian winter. Few would survive against the weapon known simply as winter.

War hasn't changed, but the scope of the tactics certainly has. Since the beginning of the Human-Covenant War scorched-earth policy was slowly beginning to be replaced by _dead-zone policy_; the reason being that the Covenant weren't confined to land. They'd destroy human resources, be it earth or space. A dead-zone could appear anywhere at any given time.

^ **^ ^ UNSC: ECHO BASE Z ^ ^ ^ **

**Two bunks, 20x10 ft. **

**One mess 40x50 ft. **

**One comm. center 30x30 ft. **

With little resources the UNSC borderland establishments were at high risk. Most hazardous of all were those who worked the lookout stations. Like fire signals on the _Great Wall_ they were kept solar systems apart and if they saw any sign of danger they would bounce emergency signals from one to another until finally it reached high command on Reach. These bases were small, often located on worthless, dead planets that the generals figured the Covenant would never seek out human forces. A single platoon would be stationed on each of these stations in shifts.

**/ / / FACT \ \ \**

**The UNSC owns and operates 300 lookouts**

**They were built during the first colonization efforts as aid stations**

**Military purposes now use them to detect enemy fleets **

**On average there are 20 marines assigned per lookout **

**During the Human-Covenant War**

**1,200 UNSC marines are stationed on lookout posts at the start of the war **

**46.7% of UNSC marines stationed as lookouts would be KIA**

**40.0% of lookout stations would be destroyed by Covenant forces **

**35.9% UNSC marines would remain MIA by the end of the war**

UNSC command tried to keep in contact with their lookout stations, but with a failing human military resources were needed elsewhere. Rescue teams would depart on frigates to keep low-profile and keep in contact with the stations, but more and more frequent they would find the stations to have vanished from the scene. These marines were usually taken from the front line and would have hundred day shifts before being redeployed on the front. Most of the time they never heard from the stations because they were on a strict radio silence basis.

Transmissions were only received on the frigates when the shit had hit the hand, making it the rescue vessel's job to clean up the aftermath.

Such was the case with Echo Base Z on the uncharted planet XL4.

_*** * * **_**E-Z COMP. DISTR. SIG. TO RECON FRIG. **_**ATLANTIS**__** III * * ***_

**(initialize receiver)THEY CAME WITH THE BLIZZARD(stop)**

**(restart)COULDN'T PREPARE(interference)(danger)**

**(re-****establish)(morse) SOS-SOS-SOS-SOS-SOS- (end morse trans.)**

**(re-establish)DO YOU READ ATLANTIS III – SITUATION IS SEVERE SUSTAINING CASUALTIES – SOS – SOS – SOS – TRANSMITION FAILING – NEED(transmission source cut)**

**(setting course for intercept)(rescue protocol xcvmn override engaged **

Nothing except the platoon of marines sent from the UNSC frigate _Atlantis III_ lived on the surface of planet XL4's frigid surface. Where lookout station _Echo-Z_ had been there now only remained the traces of battle. Nothing in the camp moved, except for the flicking tongues of the scattered fires that ate away the small structure. Soon man's footprint on the family would be nothing more than a dent in a sea of snow.

When the rescue team had arrived they found the base in its current state. They had only arrived eight hours after receiving the signal, but they knew that it would be too late. No one needed to explain to them what had happened.

Blood had long since been swallowed by the blizzard, but disfigured corpses and severed limbs were all they needed.

One by one they collected the dead.

Tore their tags from the neck.

Bagged them.

And loaded them into the pelican dropship.

While this took place there was little to be said by the marines. There was a whispered prayer here and there in honor of the dead, but their normal banter wasn't to be found.

They'd all die for the safety of humanity, but out in the frontier, touring the icy mausoleum was enough to put anyone on edge.

Sergeant Avery Johnson took it all in without a single word leaving his lips. His boys knew what they had to do without any orders. Normally he would shout dour comments to his men as they worked, but he knew by their lethargic attitudes that it wouldn't help in improving their moods.

There were only so many things someone _could_ say.

What had happened couldn't be undone and the squad knew well before they set foot in the base that the populace was likely to have been whipped out. War was hell, as had always been the term, but Johnson would continue to fight even if a demon was clawing at his leg. If you didn't detach most ties to emotion you'd make mistakes due to the heat of passion, and though the sergeant often put up a front of jovial humor he was far from being relaxed. He couldn't stop the churning in his stomach when he was given a case of this nature.

Everything about E-Z was dead. So dead that it was almost to the point where the dead took living forms. Johnson could almost hear them _whispering_ final pleas and warnings into his ear when he had first entered the ruins.

"What a goddamned mess," he said to himself as he exhaled a plume of smoke. From what they had gathered this attack had been lead by raiders – in no way were there the signs of an organized alien assault. It would have come unexpected to the unprepared men and women of Echo-Z whose blood stained the ice beneath the snow.

Attack was likely led by jackals – those overgrown chickens with firearms. Johnson knew first hand they often worked outside the actual Covenant fleet. Privateers, pirates, rebels, or whatever, they were the ones behind this attack.

An actual Covenant strike force would have left no bodies for the rescue team to recover. It would be exulting to find survivors for once, but Johnson, the weary veteran that he was, knew odds were slim as a chickadee's right leg.

"Jenkins!" The sergeant shouted over the howling wind that stung his face.

"Yeah, sergeant?" The private had just recently been folded into Johnson's command. He still knew very little about the soldier's background other than the fact that he was a whelp straight from training.

"Get into the storage chambers and see what you can find." Twenty marines had been stationed on this base. Thus far Johnson had collected the tags of seventeen of them. "No one's going to go unaccounted for."

At Johnson's feet lay the body of a young black soldier whose eyes and mouth were fixed wide open in ceaseless agony. His tags were in the sergeant's hand.

_Pvt. James Conner _

_UNSC 23__rd__ Marine _

Johnson was making sure that each of the marines was accounted for; to let their families hear the news. The corp. owed the dead that much.

"A marine shouldn't die in the cold." Johnson grimaced.

The boy hadn't been so much as seventeen when they had packed him up for a two-hundred day tour of lookout station Echo-Z. His chest plate and flesh burning under the intensity of plasma fire so that his chest was no more than a molten crater of plastic, flesh, and bone. The remains of ribs almost seemed like a hand reaching out for the sergeant. Most of his flesh was deadn; a victim of frostbite.

Back home each member of his immediate family would each be receiving a visit from a man wearing a fine pressed suit and tie, a hat in hand, and a box containing a flag with the UNSC eagle sewn in gold. Each of them would be told James had died for humanity, but it was all a lie.

James Conner had died for nothing.

Johnson sighed. It was never easy seeing such a young life lost. Especially if it had been wasted as James Conner had been.

The sergeant bent over the black marine's lifeless body. "Don't you worry son. We're going to win this war…" He tried to shut the soldier's eyes, but they were frozen to his cloudy, dead spheres.

James Conner's eyes would never be shut again.

**^ ^ ^ Private James Connor ^ ^ ^ **

**Had an IQ of 102**

**College dropout at age 22**

**Loving father**

**And supportive mother **

**Brother of five hungry siblings**

**A definite friend **

**An energetic smile**

**Died in the snow with 52 days left in his shift **

**On Echo-Z**

Marines assigned to lookouts had been selected by their age; not by their combat skills. All of the men and women of Echo-Z were greenhorns who hadn't fought a single battle this entire war.

Stupid planning, but they needed actual soldiers for the front line and not security duty. What Johnson hated was the fact that they had wasted this life on a cause that in the end couldn't have done as much as detect a small pirate vessel.

These men died for nothing, Johnson thought as he reflectively smoked his cigar, his eyes scanning the storm.

When Privates Martinez and Burke lifted the body of the frozen marine Johnson noticed that the corpse been resting on a sheet of metal. It must have been an inch under snow, but moving the marine had knocked the thin white layer askew revealing a dull grey. All was very incognito to say the least.

Johnson bent his knees. The metal was rusted on the edges in a manner resembling a saw. What fascinated him about the object he could not be sure. For all extent and purposes it was just another piece of wreckage. Call it intuition.

Sliding his fingers under the edge of the sheet he was thankful that he was wearing gloves. A deep rumbling sound left his clenched teeth, cigar remaining unmoved as he flipped the metal.

The woman curled within a hole formerly beneath the plate was revealed.

"Jumping Jesus…"Johnson dove in, sliding his glove off.

Pressing his dark fingers against her thin neck he felt for a pulse. Her eyes were shut, and her body was unflinching to bodily contact.

The flesh of her neck was cold and clammy in a manner that seemed like she had been sprayed with a fine mist. A slight bump against his fingers and Johnson knew that somehow, someway this marine was alive.

He checked her mouth. Gentle, almost silently breaths that were spread far apart…but she was still breathing.

"Corporal Williams!" He hollowed over the roar of the arctic wind. "Get your white butt over here!"

"What is it, sergeant?" Williams had sprinted from the mess hall when he'd heard his name called.

"We got ourselves a live one here! Hurry up get a stretcher."

"No shit, sarge."

Williams joined Johnson in the hole. Carefully he moved her onto her back. Her face was blackened. Johnson at first thought it might be frostbite, but upon inspection it was revealed to be nothing more than a thin layer of ash.

"Holy shit, sergeant, we actually have a live one!"

"Thanks corporal. I hadn't noticed!"

Her shoulder was scorched by plasma fire that had cut through her armor, but it wasn't deep. Unlike the dead, her wounds only scorched the surface of her flesh. It would hurt and leave a scar behind, but it wasn't life threatening.

If they didn't get her out of the cold it wouldn't be the battle that would kill her.

"Get this marine to medical and put her in something warm."

**^ ^ ^ LAY OF THE LAND ^ ^ ^ **

**XL4 has five major continents **

**Echo Z is located in the northern desert of the 3****rd**** continent **

**It is well below freezing on XL4's arctic desert **

**Being frozen is a horrible way to die**

**Luckily for 15 of the 19 dead**

**Jackal snipers have acute eyesight **

Johnson sat outside the medical wing. They had to make an emergency flight in order to get her to the medical wing. Williams wasn't a doctor, but he was damn good with first aid. X-rays showed she had no broken bones or lacerations. No bodily harm had befallen her other than her plasma burn.

Luckily _that_ was well within Williams' medical capabilities.

**/ / / UNSC FACT \ \ \**

**Recon & Rescue never carry actual doctors **

**Doctors are reserved for the front **

**Makes you miss being on the front**

Johnson reached into his pocket and retrieved his half-spent cigar. Placing it firmly between his teeth he watched the girl through the observation window. It was a horrible habit. The chewing, that is – Johnson was well aware of what tobacco was doing to him, but that had never bothered him so much as the fact that he had to constantly chew the butt of his cigar. Just one of those habits that couldn't die; everyone had to have one.

They'd switched the marine into white robe after having washed her while inspecting her physical condition. She likely came from South America, judging by her gently darkened skin tone. Her hair was short and black atop an angular head that was of a feminine, yet predatory look. Thin lipped, high cheek bones, and a small nose with a rounded tip. Everything about her was pure marine. Small breasts and subtle curves were replaced by a lean, muscular frame.

"Type of girl like that back home you wouldn't know whether to ask her out or throw her your wallet and run," Johnson joked.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't smoke in medical, sergeant." Williams had slipped in behind the sergeant. He'd switched from his combat gear to casual wear. "Regulations dictate that the ship's air needs to remain clean."

She was awake. All she had done for the last two hours was staring into the mirror. Her expression however remained utterly blank as she watched the sergeant and the corporal exchange words.

"I know regulation, corporal. Don't get you panties in a bunch! If you were a real doctor with a PH.D you'd observe that I haven't lit the cigar. A 3rd grade retard could figure out that no fire mean: no smoking."

"So long as you don't light up."

Johnson grumbled a response of compliance but had turned his attention back to the marine. "Mind if I go visit her?"

"Be my guest."

Though she had remained motionless for hours since she'd been brought aboard the marine's head was quick to snap around to the door upon Johnson's entrance. Her eyes were a darkened shade of hazel that seemed to be as sharpened as knives.

"Relax, private; I don't bite." Sergeant Johnson pulled up a chair across from her bed. He placed his near-symbiotic cap on the edge of her bunk.

"Sorry, sergeant…It's just…I feel rather jumpy."

"That's just the drugs that Williams used to get you up 'n running again. It'll wear off in an hour or so." She didn't respond; she only stared into the sergeant's eyes with a detached sense of attention. "Mind giving your name, rank, and assignment?" Johnson, of course, had already checked her tags, but this was more of a check of her mental capabilities than it was of her social skills.  
"Private First Class Anna Kalida Rosales, 23rd Division – the _Fighting Braves_ – in Fire Team Phoenix. After six months training on Camp Mars me and nineteen other marines were stationed on Echo Station Z on the planet XL4. Mission was to stay in position for two hundred days or until pick-up swapped teams. On the 156th day we were attacked by a small, hostile force…The unit was taken by complete surprise."

"Some good that scanner was, huh private?"

"Agreed…" Her tone was shockingly calm, so much so that Johnson almost worried for her mental health. "Bastards landed right on top of us. Blizzard made it so we couldn't hear a goddamned thing before they had broken in.

"They killed everyone…those six foot turkeys came into the bunks and started to fire." After a moment's speculation it became clear that it wasn't detachment so much as a cool, calm demeanor. She wasn't heartless, but she knew how to conceal her emotions. "I was in the mess…we got to our weapons, but we weren't prepared. The sergeant told us to get into the open. There was a fire fight…an explosion…then everything goes blank after that…Suddenly I wake up and I'm in here. A sole survivor without a clue for what the hell happened."

"I can answer that," Johnson pulled his cigar from his mouth. "Before they attacked they had planted charges alone the fuel tanks. When you came out they blew it all the hell. You were knocked by the blast and sent into a snowdrift. A piece of wreckage landed on top of you, but you were deep in the snow so it only acted as a roof.

"Lucky for you that piece was hot. It made you a sorry, half-assed igloo, but it managed to keep you alive long enough."

"Lucky…"

"One in a billion gets a chance like that. That was one hell of a die you had cast in your favor." Johnson proceeded to chew the butt of his cigar. He had just pulled a grade-A bullshit on the private. But, given her miraculous condition it might as well be true. "You could go so far as to call it a miracle, even."

"Miracle? Chance?" Her eyebrows arched and her lip quivered. "Everyone I knew just got blown the hell away, my shoulder burns as if I've got ten thousand needles tunneling through my flesh and there was nothing I could do about it – some luck."

"Luck happens – gotta' take and roll with it, marine." Johnson liked this girl. Selfless; cared more about those she couldn't save than the blessing that had befallen her. "It wasn't your time to die. You still have battles to fight and we still have got a war to win."

"Begging your pardon sir, but please: I could really do without the dogmatic existentialism babble. _Be all you can be_, _fight for the right_ – I got enough of that tired shtick in basic training." She turned her head to the side, not looking at anything particular.

"If you round out all the casualties of this war into the years it's been going the thing will round out to roughly ten thousand marines a week. They all went through the same basic training as I did, but they're still as dead as the marines on E-Z."

"There's a huge difference, soldier. You're a marine; a good one at that – even if you're too thick to realize it. Everyone is going to serve a purpose. Choose to take what I have to say anyway you like, but you're going to listen to me talk…

"And you're going to look at me when I'm talking to you, Rosales!"

She snapped her head to establish eye contact with the sergeant.

"All us have lost friends in this war. We don't blame it on ourselves. We blame it on those alien bastards! Each human they kill we promise each day to kill a hundred of them in return.

"Yes. Marines are going to die, but that's what marines do better than anyone else. We also _kill_ better than anyone else. We protect the species from extermination by putting our necks out on the line. You think your dead friends want you to sit here in self-pity?"

"No…"

"What do they want you to do, Rosales?"

"…"

"_What do they want you to do, Rosales?!_"

Johnson waited for her reply. Maybe it wasn't good to get her heart racing given her brush with the reaper, but he'd be damned if he was going to let this marine trek a dark path.

She was a real marine. Sure, she'd yet to prove it with any medals, or commendations, but she was 100% marine. Johnson could tell by the fire in her eyes; the cold determination of her features. That wasn't a quality many were born with. You could train a soldier, but few members of the UNSC were marines. Few could put such devotion into a line of work. Johnson couldn't let her stray into doubt or else she might lose her edge.

A marine was proud. Marines put their lives on a lower level of priority than their fellow soldier. It was by their blood that humanity would win this war. And if not? True marines would be the last men and women who'd make a final push against their enemy.

"They'd want revenge…sergeant."

"And how are you going to honor that request, Rosales?"

"I'm going to kill…every fucker that gets in my way. I will kill them all!" She clenched her fists and stared into the sergeant's eyes. "I won't stop killing them until this is done or until every breath has been drawn from my mangled corpse."

"Mhmmmm!" Johnson smiled. "Now that's a goal, marine. That's a goal. You going to carry that out, marine?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Good. We'll get you on the frontlines and I want you to count how many split chins, ass suckers, and turkeys you kill."

For the first time she smiled. It wasn't of joy or content; an odd expression that was of approval but harbored no emotional context. "Is that an order, sergeant?"

Johnson couldn't help but smile. "I expect to see a fully organized record from you by the time this war's done and over. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

Leaving the med bay Johnson was confronted by Williams. The middle aged, white man was not at all pleased with the sergeant's conduct.

"What the hell were you doing, Johnson!"

"Therapy," he grunted.

"You realize that she's a risk? We're trying to keep her calm so we can examine her mental condition, but here you are screaming, making her blood pressure rise – what is your problem?"

Williams looked like his head was about to explode. He'd always been one for the rulebooks. Probably belonged in an office; there was no place for rulebooks in the field. He couldn't understand what Johnson had done. Hell, Johnson didn't even know what drew him to the girl.

"I know, corporal. Let's just say, when you're in command you just got to do things that you normally wouldn't." He walked past the corporal.

"You could have set her off!"

That was very true. His little show could have easily set her unassisted mind over the edge. She showed all the signs of shock needed to hospitalize her, yet he'd just gone in and practically lead a chorus with him. If he'd done that at an actual hospital he could get a suspension.

"She's fine, Williams. All she needed was a wake-up call."

Leaving Williams behind Johnson knew that what he said was true. Rosales would be out on the front.

God help the poor bastards who are on the other side of her barrel.

**/ / / FACT \ \ \**

**Private Rosales would be on the **_**Atlantis III**_** for 2 months. **

**After 2 months she was left to HQ on **_**Reach **_**for evaluation **

**It would be 4 years before she'd see her rescuers again**

**.  
**

*** * * UNSC REGULATION REGARDING SOLE-SURVIVORS * * ***

**If the soldier is a sole-survivor they require a psych evaluation **

**They should seek a month of therapy sessions by UNSC staff **

**Upon completion of rehab they shall be sent back to the corp., but far from the front lines **

**.  
**

**^ ^ ^ WHAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED ^ ^ ^ **

**Anna Rosales never had a psych evaluation **

**She was only in transit on Reach for a total of 3 days **

**She was assigned to the front **


End file.
